Tangled Reins

Chapter Thirteen

Hazelmere returned to London, driving a new pair of black horses, leaving the bays in the country to recuperate. The curricle flashed into the mews behind Hazelmere House late in the afternoon. Discussing the performance of the new pair with Jim, he strolled out of the stables as Ferdie rode into the mews, leading two horses.

Thoroughly worn out with his role as chief confidant and protector, Ferdie was delighted to see his cousin. Dismounting and handing over the reins to Jim, he reflected that the source of the horses the Darent sisters rode was one of the better kept secrets in this whole affair. He could imagine what Dorothea would say when she learned that her bay mare had all along belonged to Hazelmere. He hoped they would be married by then and she could discuss the subject with Hazelmere rather than him. He turned to his cousin. ‘Relieved to see you back!’

‘Oh?’ The black brows rose interrogatively.

‘Not that anything’s happened,’ he hastily assured him. ‘But Dorothea knows something’s going on and it’s getting more and more difficult to know what to say.’

‘Poor Ferdie! It sounds as if it’s all been too much for you.’

‘Well, it has!’ returned Ferdie, incensed. ‘Here she’s gone and turned all your friends into her most devoted slaves-oh, yes! Didn’t expect that, did you?’ He had the satisfaction of seeing the hazel eyes widen. Nodding decisively, he continued, ‘Rather think it’s been her holding the reins in your absence, not us!’

Hazelmere, eyes dancing, sighed. ‘I see I was mistaken in thinking it safe to leave you all in charge of Miss Darent. I might have guessed it would turn out the other way. Why on earth you have allowed her to assume the whip hand, I know not. Obviously I’ll have to intervene and save you all.’

‘All very well for you. It’s you she loves, not us! Never seen a lady so capable of making us all jump to her tune. Better take her in hand straight away!’

Hazelmere laughed at this blatant encouragement. ‘Believe me, Ferdie, I intend to-with all possible speed. But not tonight, I think. It’s Alvanley’s dinner for me. I can’t remember if there’s anything else on.’

‘No, nothing of note. I’m to escort Dorothea and Cecily to a quiet little party at Lady Rothwell’s. Just the younger crew, so I’m looking forward to an uneventful evening. Mind, though! Tomorrow she’s all yours!’

‘Oh, quite definitely!’ As they strolled back into Cavendish Square Hazelmere added, ‘In fact, you can assist in your own relief by informing Dorothea that I’ll call on her tomorrow morning.’

Regarding his cousin with misgiving, Ferdie answered, ‘Well, I’ll tell her. But she’ll probably insist on going riding or think up some important engagement on the spot.’

‘In that case,’ Hazelmere said, his voice silky smooth, his lips curving in anticipation, ‘you had better add, in your most persuasive tones, that she would do very much better to meet me next in private rather than public.’

Ferdie, doubting that he could deliver that statement with quite the force Hazelmere could, nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, all right, I suppose that’ll do it.’

‘You can take it from me that it will,’ responded Hazelmere gravely. Laughing at Ferdie’s outraged countenance, he clapped his cousin on the shoulder and went into his own house, leaving Ferdie to wander on to his lodgings.

Some two hours later Fanshawe was attempting to tie his neckcloth in the latest fashion when the knocker on his door was plied with unusual insistence. With an oath he discarded his latest attempt and testily recommended his man, standing mute with an armload of fresh specimens, to see who on earth it was.

A minute later, just as he was once again engrossed, the door opened.

‘Hartness, who on earth have you sent these to? They’re too floppy to do anything with!’

Came an amused voice in reply, ‘A poor cobbler always blames his lathe.’

He twisted around, ruining any chance he had of correctly tying his next attempt. ‘Oh, you’re back, are you?’

‘As you see,’ replied Hazelmere. ‘I’d said I would be, after all.’

‘Never know where you’ll be or not. Where’d you get to-just Leicestershire?’

‘Lauleigh, Darent Hall and Hazelmere,’ responded the Marquis.

Fanshawe took a moment to work this out. ‘Thought that might be it,’ he said sagaciously. ‘Have you seen Dorothea yet?’

‘No. I thought that after my flying around the country I deserve Alvanley’s dinner. And Ferdie tells me they’re to attend a boring party tonight, so all should be safe until tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow. Good! Where’d you say Darent Hall was?’

‘Ah, lies the wind in that quarter?’

‘You’re not the only one who can suddenly decide for reasons unknown to get leg-shackled to a managing female!’ responded his lordship tartly.

Laughing, Hazelmere said, ‘It’s in Northamptonshire, not far from Corby. Easy to find if you ask. Here! For the lord’s sake, let me tie that or Jeremy will be wondering what’s become of us! Stand still!’

He rapidly tied his friend’s cravat, his long fingers creasing the stiff material into the required folds. ‘Right, done. Now let’s get going!’

Fanshawe, admiring the finished product, mused, ‘Not bad.’

Finding his coat thrown at his head, he laughed and, putting it on, joined Hazelmere on the stairs.

Jeremy Alvanley had been in the habit of giving a dinner for his closest friends every year for six years. It had become an event in their calendar, a gentlemen-only gourmet affair with the best of the latest vintages to wash the delicacies down. All their set made every effort to attend, and the occasion usually proved highly entertaining. This year’s dinner was no exception. The conversation flowed as freely as the wine. Much of this consisted of regaling Hazelmere with the problems they had faced in looking after Miss Darent. All of them knew of the scene in the Park, but none of them could begin to imagine what had happened afterwards. However, they were well acquainted with Hazelmere and had therefore been surprised at Dorothea’s subsequent performance. Finding him in his normal benign mood, none of them was quite sure what to think. But, as he was obviously genuinely entertained by the stories of their difficulties, they took every opportunity to impress on him how arduous their labours had been.

Though they did not know it, their stories confirmed for Hazelmere what Ferdie and later Fanshawe had told him: clearly Dorothea had taken charge, realising that, to some extent, they were acting under his direction. That she had succeeded in captivating them was apparent. He was amused to hear that the only sure way they found to escape her subtle questioning had been to invoke his name. That this had succeeded told him that she had known precisely what she was about in her handling of this group of gentlemen whom he would have described as among the most hardened to feminine wiles.

During the evening Desborough paused by his chair to enlighten him regarding Edward Buchanan. The black brows drew together. Then he shrugged. ‘I might have expected him to make some such attempt. Thankfully, you were there.’ With a quick smile Desborough moved on.

After dinner it was their custom to adjourn to White’s for the rest of the evening, or, more correctly, until the small hours of the next morning. By eleven o’clock they were deeply engrossed in play.

Ferdie, Dorothea and Cecily arrived at Lady Rothwell’s punctually at eight, to find carriages waiting to convey them to a surprise party at Vauxhall. Neither Dorothea nor Ferdie was enthusiastic; Cecily was ecstatic. As it was virtually impossible to withdraw politely, Dorothea and the even more reluctant Ferdie were forced to accept the change with suitable grace.

At the pleasure gardens Lady Rothwell had hired a booth facing the dancing area, gaily lit with festoons of coloured lanterns. The younger folk joined in the dancing, while Dorothea and Ferdie stayed in the booth, watching the passing scene. Lady Rothwell sat keeping a shrewd and motherly eye on all her young charges.

Dorothea had heard that Hazelmere was expected to have returned that day. Speculation on their next meeting was consuming more and more of her time. Glancing at her pensive face, Ferdie recalled his cousin’s message. He could hardly deliver it in Lady Rothwell’s hearing. ‘Would you like to view the Fairy Fountain, Miss Darent?’

Dorothea had no wish to view the Fairy Fountain but thought it odd that Ferdie should imagine she would. Then she caught the faintest inclination of his head, and, intrigued, agreed. Lady Rothwell made no demur to their projected stroll and Dorothea left the booth on Ferdie’s arm. Once out of sight and sound of her ladyship, she lost no time. ‘What is it you wish to tell me, Ferdie?’

Thinking she had a bad habit of making it difficult to lead up to things by degrees, Ferdie answered baldly, ‘Met Hazelmere this afternoon. Gave me a message for you.’

‘Oh?’ she replied, bridling.

Not liking the tone of that syllable and fast coming to the conclusion he should have told his high-handed cousin to deliver his own messages, Ferdie was forced to continue. ‘Said to tell you he would call on you tomorrow morning.’

‘I see. What a pity I shall miss him! I do believe I have to visit some friends tomorrow morning.’

‘Told him so.’ Ferdie nodded sagely. Under Dorothea’s bemused gaze, he hurriedly explained, ‘Told him you would very likely be engaged.’

‘And?’

Liking his role less and less, Ferdie took a deep breath and continued manfully, ‘He said to say you would do better to meet him in private rather than in public.’

The undisguised threat left Dorothea speechless. Seeing her kindling eyes, Ferdie decided it was time to return to safer and more populated surroundings than the secluded walk they had entered. ‘Take you back to her ladyship,’ he volunteered.

Seething, Dorothea allowed him to take her arm and they retraced their steps. She was incensed. More than that, she was furious! How dared he send such a command to her? However, as she strolled back to the booth by Ferdie’s side common sense reasserted itself. If her last meeting with Hazelmere was any guide, she would be wise to avoid provoking him further. The thought of refusing his suggested interview only to meet him next in the middle of a ballroom was enough to convince her to accede to his request.

Shortly after Dorothea and Ferdie had left, Lady Rothwell was joined by Cecily, thoroughly enjoying herself, accompanied by Lord Rothwell. Noticing Cecily’s high colour, her ladyship sent her son for some ices from the pavilion. Cecily sat down beside her and was in the middle of a delighted description of the sights when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

At her ladyship’s command, an individual in attire proclaiming the respectable gentleman’s gentleman entered the booth.

‘Lady Rothwell?’

‘Yes?’

‘I have an urgent message for Miss Cecily Darent.’ The man proffered a sealed letter.

At a nod from Lady Rothwell, Cecily took it, broke the seal and spread open the single sheet. Reading it, she paled. Reaching the end, she sat down weakly in the chair, allowing her ladyship to remove the letter from suddenly nerveless fingers.

‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Lady Rothwell, quickly perusing the missive. ‘My dear, I’m so sorry!’

‘I must go to him,’ said Cecily. ‘Where’s my cloak?’

‘Don’t you think you should wait for Dorothea and Ferdie?’

‘Oh, no! They might be half an hour or more! Surely there can be no impropriety? I must not delay. Oh, please, Lady Rothwell, please say I may go?’

Her ladyship was not proof against Cecily’s huge pansy eyes. But it was with definite misgiving that she watched her disappear down the walk to the carriage gate in the company of Lord Fanshawe’s man.

Ten minutes later Ferdie and Dorothea regained the booth. Lady Rothwell had sent her son away and was trying to rid herself of a strong suspicion that she had erred in allowing Cecily to leave. She looked up with relief.

‘Oh, Ferdie! I’m so glad to see you. And you too, my dear. Cecily received a most disturbing message and has gone off with Lord Fanshawe’s man.’

Neither Ferdie nor Dorothea understood much of this, but, seeing the letter her ladyship was holding out, Ferdie took it.

To Miss Cecily Darent,

I am writing on behalf of Lord Fanshawe, who is currently in my surgery, having sustained serious wounds in a recent accident. His lordship is in a bad way and is asking for you. I am sending this note by the hand of his servant and I hope if he finds you you will allow this individual, who his lordship assures me is trustworthy, to escort you to his lordship’s side. I need hardly add that time is of the essence.

Yours, et cetera,

James Harten, Surgeon.

‘Oh, dear!’ said Dorothea.

‘Gammon!’ said Ferdie.

‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Dorothea.

‘This letter,’ he explained. ‘It’s a hoax.’

‘But how do you know?’ wailed Lady Rothwell.

‘Because I know it’s Alvanley’s dinner tonight and then they always go on to White’s. Every year, always the same. So wherever Tony is, Marc’s with him. Bound to be. And Marc would never allow this. You may not know, but I do. Devilishly starchy on some things, Hazelmere.’

Dorothea, knowing this to be the truth, gave voice to her thoughts. ‘But if it is a hoax, to what purpose?’

Ferdie realised they had all made a mistake in forgetting there were two Darent sisters. Dorothea and Lady Rothwell were obviously expecting him to answer. ‘Sorry to have to say this, but I’m afraid she’s been abducted.’

‘I knew there was something wrong,’ wailed her ladyship. ‘Oh, dear! Whatever shall I tell Hermione?’

‘Ferdie, what should we do?’ asked Dorothea, wasting no time in histrionics.

Ferdie, whose brain could, under stress, perform quite creditably, paused for a moment. ‘Who else knew of this letter?’

‘No one,’ answered Lady Rothwell. ‘William was out getting ices at the time and I didn’t like to show it to him.’

‘Good. Dorothea and I will leave and return to Merion House. If any demand or message is sent, that’s where it’ll be. Lady Rothwell, you’ll have to tell everyone Dorothea was feeling unwell and that Cecily and I took her home.’

Her ladyship, reviewing this plan, approved. ‘Yes, very well. And Dorothea, tell Hermione I’ll keep silent about this. I feel responsible for letting Cecily go and I dread to think what your grandmother will think of me, my dear.’

Nodding, Dorothea murmured thanks and reassurances before she and Ferdie left for the carriages.

In spite of the coachman’s best efforts, the journey to Cavendish Square took twenty tense minutes. Admitted to Merion House by a surprised Mellow, they found, as suspected, a recently delivered letter addressed to Dorothea. Lady Merion was attending a card party at Miss Berry’s and would not be home for hours.

Ushering Dorothea into the drawing-room and shutting the door on Mellow, Ferdie nodded to the letter. ‘Best open it. Have to know what they want.’

Dorothea broke the cheap seal and read the contents of the single sheet, Ferdie looking over her shoulder.

My dear Miss Darent,

I have your sister in safe keeping and if you wish to see her again you will do exactly as I say. You should immediately set out in your carriage and travel to the Castle Inn at Tadworth, south of Banstead. Do not bring anyone with you or nothing will come of your visit and your sister’s reputation will assuredly be lost. If you do not arrive before dawn I will be forced to conclude that you have informed the authorities and I will then have to flee the country, taking your sister with me. I am sure I can rely on your good sense. I remain,

Your most obedient servant,

Edward Buchanan, Esq.

‘Good God! The bounder!’ said Ferdie, disgust etching his fair face. ‘You can’t possibly go to that place.’ After a pause he added, ‘But someone’s going to have to.’

Dorothea’s mind was racing. In a way, it was partly her fault that Cecily had been abducted. If only she had been more careful of her younger sister and not so absorbed with her own affairs. It was Cecily for whom they had come to London to find a husband. Maybe she could have been firmer with Edward Buchanan, though it was difficult to see how. Weighing up the possible courses of action available to her, she answered Ferdie at random. ‘Yes, but who? And how?’

Ferdie had little doubt as to the who and how. ‘Best thing we can do is get hold of Hazelmere. Tony’ll be with him and they’ll know what to do. Sort of thing Marc’s good at.’

Dorothea’s absent gaze abruptly fixed on Ferdie’s face. She had no difficulty understanding his comments. But inwardly she groaned. The memory of how affairs stood between herself and the Marquis, never far from mind, reeled into focus. After the way they had parted the last thing she needed was this. To meet him next with a calm request to extricate her sister, essentially her responsibility, from the clutches of one of her own importunate suitors was a prospect she could not face. ‘No, Ferdie,’ she said with calm decision. ‘There’s no need for Hazelmere or Fanshawe or anyone else to be involved.’

Ferdie simply looked blank. Then stubborn. There ensued a totally unprofitable ten minutes of wrangling. Finally Dorothea suggested a compromise. ‘If you fetch Grandmama, then she can decide what to do.’

Relieved, Ferdie headed for Miss Berry’s.

It was over an hour later that Mellow opened the door to his mistress. On reaching the Misses Berry’s trim little house, Ferdie had sent in a message that Dorothea was ill and consequently Lady Merion’s presence was required at Merion House. Instead of resulting in Lady Merion’s coming out, he had been summoned in. Lady Merion had been engaged in a thrilling rubber and had desired to know how desperately ill her granddaughter, last seen in rude health, had become. Under the amused gaze of what had seemed like half the ton, Ferdie had been forced to assure her ladyship that Dorothea’s state was not critical. With a smile her ladyship had settled down to finish her game.

But now, as she surrendered her fur wrap, Lady Merion looked anything but complacent. A worried frown had settled over the sharp blue eyes as she led the way into the drawing-room. Ferdie followed and shut the door.

‘Where’s Dorothea?’ asked Lady Merion.

Ferdie’s face was blank as he scanned the room, almost as if he expected to find Dorothea hiding in a corner. The pale blue eyes stopped when they reached the white square tucked into a corner of the mirror on the mantelpiece.

Lady Merion, following his gaze, walked over and twitched the envelope free. It was addressed to her. She smoothed out the sheet. Then, one hand groping wildly, she sank into a chair. Under her powder she paled, but her voice when she spoke was firm. ‘Drat the girl! She’s gone off to get Cecily herself.’

‘What?’

‘Precisely!’ Lady Merion read the note again. ‘A lot of gibberish about being responsible for the mess.’ She snorted. ‘Says she can handle Buchanan.’

A pause developed, Ferdie, for once, too incensed to break it. Eventually Lady Merion spoke again. ‘I’m not so sure she can handle that man. I think we should summon Hazelmere anyway. Dorothea seems set against it, but in the circumstances he should be told. It’s time she realised that, as she’s virtually affianced to him, she simply can’t go careering off about the countryside like this, let alone keep it hidden from him.’ The sharp blue eyes turned on Ferdie. ‘So how do we get hold of him?’

Ferdie came to life. ‘Tonight it’s easy. You write a note and we’ll send it to him at White’s. One night of the year you can be sure he’s there.’

Lady Merion nodded briskly and, going to the small escritoire, dashed off a note to Hazelmere.

Ferdie, engaged in some hard thinking, looked up as she sealed it. ‘Don’t address it. I’ll do that.’

Lady Merion raised her brows but relinquished her seat without comment. Picking up the pen, Ferdie frowned, then inscribed the front of the note with his cousin’s full title.

Summoning Mellow, Ferdie put the note into his hands and instructed him to ensure its immediate delivery to White’s. No answer was expected. Together with Lady Merion, he settled down to wait.

As Ferdie had predicted, both Lords Hazelmere and Fanshawe were at their accustomed positions in the gaming-room. Hazelmere was holding the bank, and the rest of the table was comprised of their friends, all making every effort to break the bank. They had been playing for a little over an hour and had just got pleasantly settled in.

Hazelmere, dealing the next hand, was surprised to find an attendant at his elbow with a letter on a salver. Completing the deal, he picked up the letter and, glancing at the direction, used the silver-bladed knife to break the seal. He laid the missive on the table and returned his attention to his cards.

He had immediately recognised Ferdie’s handwriting, but could not understand why his cousin should suddenly start to send letters to him under his full title. In fact, he could not understand why Ferdie would send him a letter at this time of night at all. Despite giving only half his mind to the game, he succeeded in concluding the first round and, while the other players were considering their next bids, he opened the letter.

The reason for Ferdie’s departure from normal behaviour was instantly apparent. Rapidly scanning the lines, he managed to control his expression so that those watching could tell nothing from it. The letter ran,

My dear Hazelmere,

Cecily has been abducted by Edward Buchanan. In a note he has demanded Dorothea’s attendance at some inn. After sending Ferdie to get me, Dorothea left for the inn. Ferdie suggests you may be able to help. We are at Merion House.

Yours, et cetera,

Hermione Merion.

Refolding the letter, Hazelmere stared pensively at the cards. Then, placing the letter in his coat pocket, he turned once more to the game. He rapidly brought this to a conclusion, refusing the opportunity to draw Markham further into the bidding. Pushing back his chair, he signalled to an attendant to remove the pile of rouleaus from in front of him. ‘I’m very much afraid, my friends, that you’ll have to continue without me,’ he said smoothly.

‘Trouble?’ asked Peterborough.

‘I trust not. Nevertheless, I’ll have to return to Cavendish Square. Will you take the bank, Gerry?’

While Hazelmere and Peterborough concluded their transaction for transfer of the bank, Fanshawe frowned at the table. He had also recognised Ferdie’s writing. Finally catching Hazelmere’s eye, he raised his brows questioningly. Receiving an almost imperceptible nod in return, he also withdrew from the game. Minutes later the two friends descended the steps of White’s. Once clear of the entrance, Fanshawe asked, ‘What is it? Not your mother?’

Hazelmere shook his head. ‘Wrong side of Cavendish Square.’ Without further comment he handed the letter over. They stopped under a street-lamp for Fanshawe to read it.

‘Good lord! Cecily!’

‘I’m afraid we protected Dorothea too well and so he changed his plans a trifle.’ Seeing Fanshawe still staring at the letter, Hazelmere removed this firmly from his grasp, saying, ‘I suspect we should hurry.’

They covered the distance to Cavendish Square in less than ten minutes. Admitted to Merion House by the thoroughly intrigued Mellow, Hazelmere did not wait to be announced but led the way into the drawing-room.

Lady Merion started up out of her chair. ‘Thank God you’re here!’ Despite her wish to appear calm, the unexpected worry was a taxing burden. She was no longer young.

Hazelmere smiled reassuringly and, after bowing over her hand, settled her once more. Hearing the increasing commotion from the other side of the room as Fanshawe tried to piece together what had happened, he intervened. ‘I think we should start at the beginning.’

His voice cut through the altercation with ease. Fanshawe and Ferdie looked at him, then his lordship abandoned his belligerent stance and Ferdie his defensive one. They seated themselves, Ferdie opposite Lady Merion and Fanshawe on a chair pulled over from the side of the room.

Hazelmere nodded his approval and perched on the arm of the chaise. ‘You start, Ferdie.’

‘Took Dorothea and Cecily to Lady Rothwell’s, as I’d said. We all thought it was to be a quiet little party. Turned out to be a visit to Vauxhall.’

‘Couldn’t you have stopped it?’ interposed Fanshawe.

Ferdie looked at Hazelmere and replied, ‘Knew you wouldn’t like it, but nothing to be done. Dorothea and Cecily wouldn’t have understood. Couldn’t simply refuse and come away.’

Hazelmere nodded. ‘Yes, I see. What then?’

‘At first all seemed fine. Nothing untoward. Young people only and no flash characters. Took Dorothea for a stroll.’ Nodding to Hazelmere, he explained, ‘Your message. When we got back to the booth Lady Rothwell told us Cecily had gone. A servant had come with a letter for her.’ Fishing in his coat pockets for the letter, Ferdie continued, ‘Fellow told Lady Rothwell he was your man, Tony. Here it is.’

He handed the crumpled note to Fanshawe. As he read it his lordship’s face grew unusually grim. Handing it on to Hazelmere, he looked at Ferdie. ‘And she went with him?’

‘Lady Rothwell tried to stop her, but you know what Cecily is. After that we came straight back here.’

‘One moment! Did anyone other than Lady Rothwell know what happened?’ asked Hazelmere.

‘No, luckily,’ replied Fanshawe. ‘And she’s promised to keep mum. Going to say Dorothea was unwell and Cecily and I escorted her home.’

‘She’s a good friend,’ put in Lady Merion. ‘She won’t say anything unhelpful.’

‘And then?’ prompted Hazelmere.

‘We found the letter from Buchanan waiting when we got here.’

‘Where’s this letter?’ asked Fanshawe.

Lady Merion and Ferdie tried to remember where they had put it. Then her ladyship realised it was on the escritoire. Hazelmere retrieved it and remained standing while he read the single sheet, Fanshawe looking over his shoulder.

‘Is the writing the same as the others?’ asked Fanshawe.

Hazelmere nodded. ‘Yes, all the same. So it was Edward Buchanan all the time.’ He folded the letter and returned to the chaise. ‘What happened next?’

‘I suggested we send for you. Seemed the best idea. Dorothea didn’t agree. Insisted there was no need. Couldn’t see it, myself. Then she suggested I fetch Lady Merion. Meek and mild as anything! Thought that was a good idea, so I did. Didn’t know she’d go haring off as soon as my back was turned! Didn’t let on at all!’ Ferdie’s anger returned in full force.

Hazelmere smiled.

Lady Merion frowned. ‘Well? Aren’t you going after her?’

The black brows rose, a touch arrogantly. ‘Of course. While I dare say Dorothea may manage Buchanan well enough, like you, I would feel a great deal happier if I knew exactly what was going on. However,’ he paused, hazel eyes fixed on an aspidistra in the corner, ‘it occurs to me that flying off in a rush might land us in a worse tangle.’

‘How so?’ asked Fanshawe, seating himself again.

‘At the moment Cecily is presumably at the Castle Inn at Tadworth, in the company of Edward Buchanan and associates. Dorothea must have left before midnight and it’ll take her close to three hours to make the journey. It’s now after twelve-thirty. We can probably make the distance in two hours, so we should reach the inn not far behind her.’ He paused for breath. ‘However, if we go flying down there we end with both Darent sisters mysteriously disappearing from London, and on the same night you and I, Tony, also mysteriously disappear. And what do we do when we catch up with them? Bring them back to London? But we wouldn’t reach here until morning. The gossips would have a field-day.’

As the truth of his words sank in, Lady Merion grimaced.

Ferdie’s pale face went blank. ‘Oh.’

‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Fanshawe.

Hazelmere grinned. ‘The problem is not insurmountable.’ Glancing at Lady Merion’s worried face, he added with a smile, ‘It’s a pity your inventive elder granddaughter isn’t here to help, but I think I can contrive a suitable tale. Ring for Mellow, Ferdie.’

Hazelmere asked for his groom to be summoned from Hazelmere House. While they waited he was silent, an odd smile touching the corners of his mouth. At one point he roused himself to ask whether Dorothea had gone alone.

Lady Merion answered. ‘Her note said she was taking their maid, Betsy, and of course Lang, her coachman, will be driving.’

Hazelmere nodded as if satisfied and relapsed into silence.

Jim entered the room, cap in hand. Hazelmere studied him for a moment and then, smiling, began in a soft voice that Jim knew well. ‘Jim, I have a number of orders which it’s vital you carry out to the letter and with all possible speed. The first thing you’ll do is fig out the greys.’

‘What?’ This exclamation broke from both Ferdie and Fanshawe simultaneously.

‘No! Really, Marc! Can’t have thought! The greys on bad roads at night!’ blustered Ferdie.

Jim, watching his master, merely blinked. Fanshawe opened his mouth to protest, then caught his friend’s eye and subsided.

‘There’s no point in having the fastest pair in the realm if one cannot use them when needed,’ remarked Hazelmere. Turning back to Jim, he continued, ‘After you’ve seen the greys put to, get a stable-boy to walk them in the square. Saddle the fastest horse in the stables-Lightning, I think. And then ride first to Eglemont.’ Turning to Fanshawe, he asked, ‘Your parents are at home, aren’t they?’

‘Yes,’ replied his lordship, mystified.

‘Good. You, Jim, will demand to see Lord Eglemont, or, failing him, her ladyship. You’ll tell them Lord Fanshawe will arrive before morning with Cecily Darent. He’ll explain when he arrives. You’re then to ride to Hazelmere and speak to the Dowager. You’ll tell her that I’ll arrive before morning with Miss Darent. Again, I’ll explain when I arrive.’ Suddenly grinning, he added, ‘It’s probably just as well you won’t know the whole story, so you can deny knowledge with a clear conscience.’

Jim, knowing the Marquis’s mother well, grinned back. Hazelmere nodded a dismissal.

Fanshawe had worked out some of the plan in his friend’s head and was grinning. Hazelmere refused to meet his eye, and instead turned back to Lady Merion and Ferdie. ‘I’ll only go through this once. We don’t have time for repeat performances. Listen well and, if you see any points I’ve missed, say so. We have to ensure the story is watertight.’

Satisfied he had their attention, he started, ‘Some time much earlier in the Season I unwisely described to Dorothea the beauties of seeing Hazelmere Water at sunrise. Dorothea told Cecily, and between them they made my life and yours, Tony, unbearable until we agreed to organise an excursion to see this wonder. With the aid of our respective parents, a plan was hatched. It’s best to see this spectacle on a clear morning, and because none of us wished to spend a week or more in the country waiting for such an opportunity it was agreed that on the first clear moonlit night we would drive down in the carriage, view the Water at dawn, visit Hazelmere and Eglemont and return to town later.’ With a nod at Lady Merion he added, ‘The party was to include your ladyship. Tonight is a clear moonlit night with the promise of a fine morning to follow. Perfect for our projected expedition. Did you say something, Tony?’

Fanshawe had put his head on his arms with an audible groan. Looking up, he said, ‘All very well to save their reputations, but what about ours?’

Hazelmere grinned. ‘I don’t expect this story to fool our friends. It’s the rest of the ton I’m concerned about.’ He paused. ‘Console yourself with imagining how grateful Cecily is bound to be when you tell her of your sacrifice to preserve her reputation.’

Lady Merion snorted. She wondered if Hazelmere expected Dorothea to be grateful. Then he was speaking again.

‘To continue. It was arranged that Lady Merion and the Misses Darent would decide on the most appropriate night and then contact the two of us. At the Rothwells’ party the girls realised tonight was the most suitable in weeks. So they excused themselves from the party on the pretext that Dorothea was ill and returned to Merion House. They sent a message to us at White’s. Ferdie helped with that. And all the gaming-room saw me get the letter, and then we both left to return to Cavendish Square. So far, all’s well. Then, after we arrived and agreed tonight was suitable, Ferdie went to fetch Lady Merion. What excuse did you give for summoning her ladyship, Ferdie?’

‘That Dorothea was ill.’

‘So that fits too. However, when you arrived home, Lady Merion, it was you who felt truly unwell. Sufficiently unwell, at least, to baulk at a night drive down to Hazelmere. But rather than postpone the outing, and seeing that as of this afternoon Dorothea and I are betrothed…’

Hazelmere broke off, seeing the sensation this announcement had caused. ‘No,’ he continued in a weary tone, ‘I haven’t asked her yet, but I do have horrible Herbert’s blessing and she’s not going to get the chance to refuse, so we will be by the time we return to London.’

He paused but, when no one made any comment, continued, ‘Where was I? Oh, yes! In these circumstances, you suggested the maid Betsy could go in your stead. We left immediately. Dorothea and I went down in the curricle with Jim and Tony, and Cecily followed in the carriage with Betsy. We had decided that, as the Season is somewhat flat at the moment, we would all spend a few days in the country. So that is exactly what has happened and is going to happen.’

A pause ensued while they considered the tale. Lady Merion’s mind was reeling as she considered the possible outcomes when Hazelmere calmly informed Dorothea that she was to marry him. She wished she could be there to see it. But it would do Marc Henry the world of good to meet some opposition for a change. She had little doubt he would succeed in overcoming it. So, an expectant smile curving her lips, she remained silent.

Then Hazelmere spoke again. ‘Now for the loose ends. You and I, Tony, are shortly to leave for Tadworth to remove the young ladies from Buchanan’s hands and from there we’ll proceed to Hazelmere and Eglemont. Lady Merion, you remain here and ensure we have no more rumours. Ferdie, you are the final player and you’ve probably got the most vital role.’

At these words Ferdie looked highly suspicious. Long acquaintance with his cousin made him wary of such pronouncements. ‘What am I to do?’

‘First, I want you to place a notice of my betrothal to Dorothea in tomorrow’s Gazette. There should be time. Then you must very subtly ensure the story of our romantic escapade is broadcast throughout the ton.’

‘No!’ groaned Fanshawe, pain writ large on his countenance. ‘We’ll never be able to show our faces at White’s again!’

Hazelmere’s smile broadened. ‘Even so. If everyone is exclaiming over our idiotic behaviour they’re unlikely to go looking for other explanations of tonight’s doings.’ Turning back to Ferdie, he asked, ‘Have I missed anything vital?’

Ferdie was running the whole tale over in his mind. He brought his gaze back to his cousin’s face, his eyes alight. ‘It’s good. No gaps. I think I’ll drop in on Ginger Gordon tomorrow. Haven’t seen him in ages.’

This was greeted by another moan from Fanshawe. Sir ‘Ginger’ Gordon was an inveterate gossip, Sir Barnaby Ruscombe’s chief rival. Even a few words in his ear could be counted on to go a very long way.

‘Good! That’s settled.’ Hazelmere glanced at the clock and rose. ‘Come on, Tony. We’d better go.’ Taking Lady Merion’s hand, he smiled confidently down at her. ‘Don’t fret. We’ll bring them off without harm.’

Turning to Ferdie, Hazelmere noted the smile of pleasant anticipation on his face. ‘Don’t get too carried away, Ferdie. I do wish to live in London, you know.’

Startled out of his reverie, Ferdie hastened to reassure his cousin that everything would be most subtly handled. As Fanshawe had finished taking his leave, Hazelmere merely threw him a sceptical glance as he moved to the door.

The friends strode rapidly across Cavendish Square. As they reached Hazelmere House Fanshawe said, ‘I’ll go and get changed. Pick me up when you’re ready?’

Hazelmere nodded and entered his house. Moments later his servants were flying to do his bidding, and inside ten minutes, attired more suitably for driving about the country at night, he mounted his curricle behind the restive greys and swept out of the square. Taking Fanshawe up at his lodgings, they made good time through the deserted city streets. Once clear of the suburbs, Hazelmere allowed the horses their heads and the curricle bounded forward.

Edward Buchanan’s master plan began to hiccup from the start. The first phase was the abduction of Cecily Darent from Vauxhall Gardens. Having assumed that she was no different from the usual débutante, he was unprepared for the spirited resistance she put up when he grabbed her on one of the shadowy paths. Assisted by his valet, he had secured her hands and gagged her, but she had managed to kick him on the shin before they had bundled her into the carriage. Thus warned, he had kept her bound and gagged until he had been able to release her into the parlour, the only one in the Castle Inn, and lock the stout oak door on her.

The Castle Inn was a small hostelry. Not far from the major roads, it was sufficiently removed to make interruption by unexpected guests unlikely. The front door gave directly on to the taproom. Edward Buchanan stayed by the fire in the low-ceilinged room, sipping a mug of ale and smugly considering the future. It had finally dawned on him that the desirable Miss Darent, she of the Grange, Hampshire, as nice a little property as any he had seen, had ripened like a plum and was about to fall into the hand of the Marquis of Hazelmere. And his lordship didn’t even need the money. It was grossly unfair. So he had set about rectifying the error of fate. But Miss Darent seemed possessed of an uncanny ability to side-step his snares. His attempts at the masquerade and the picnic had both come to naught. This time, however, he prided himself he had her measure. To save her young sister, she would, he was certain, deliver herself, and her tidy little fortune, into his hands. Her fight with Hazelmere and his lordship’s absence from town had relieved his horizon of its only cloud. He smiled into the flames. Then, bored with his own company, he rose and stretched. Miss Cecily had been alone for nearly an hour. It should, therefore, be safe to venture in and discuss the beauties of the future with his prospective sister-in-law.

Opening the door of the parlour, he sauntered in. A vase of flowers flew at his head. He ducked just in time and the vase crashed against the door.

‘Get out!’ said Cecily in tones reminiscent of Lady Merion. ‘How dare you come in here?’

He had expected to find her weeping in distress and fear, totally submissive and entirely incapable of accurately throwing objects about the room. Instead she stood at the other end of the heavy deal table that squatted squarely in the middle of the chamber. On its surface, close to her hand, were ranged all the potential missiles the room had held. Eyeing these, he assumed an authoritative manner.

Waving his hand at her ammunition, he said in a confident tone, ‘My dear child! There’s no cause for such actions, I assure you!’

‘Gammon!’ she said, picking up a small salt cellar. ‘I think you’re mad.’

A frown marred Edward Buchanan’s contentment. ‘You shouldn’t say such things of your future brother-in-law, m’dear.’

It took Cecily all of a minute to work it out. ‘But Dorothea won’t marry you.’

‘I assure you she will,’ returned Edward Buchanan with calm certainty. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat, a wary eye on the salt cellar. ‘And why not? Hazelmere won’t have her now, not after she cut him in the Park. And none of her other beaux seems all that keen to come up to scratch. And after she comes down here to spend the night with me-well, just think of the scandal if she doesn’t marry me after all.’

‘Good lord! You really must be mad! I don’t know what happened between Dorothea and Hazelmere in the Park, but I do know he’s only gone out of town to his estates. He’s expected back any day now. If he finds you’ve been trying to…to pressure Dorothea into marrying you, well…’ Words failed Cecily as she tried to imagine what Hazelmere really would do in such a situation.

But Edward Buchanan was not impressed. ‘By the time his lordship finds out, it’ll be too late. Your sister will be promised to me and Hazelmere will never stand for the scandal.’

‘What scandal? If he killed you it would be simple to hush it up. Tony told me there’s little Hazelmere couldn’t do if he wished it.’

A niggling doubt awoke in Edward Buchanan’s stolid brain. Memories of the tales of Hazelmere’s prowess at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon reverberated in his head. And Desborough’s warning flitted through his consciousness. He shook such unhelpful thoughts aside. ‘Nonsense!’

But Edward Buchanan was to find, as Tony Fanshawe already had, that Cecily’s mind was of a peculiarly tenacious disposition. She continued to dwell longingly on the possible outcome once Hazelmere learned of his plans. No amount of persuasion could shake her faith that he would find out, and that sooner rather than later. As her description of the likely punishments in store for him passed from the general to the specific Edward Buchanan found himself totally unable to divert her attention. She was trying to recall what drawing and quartering entailed when she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

With enormous relief he rose. ‘That, I believe, will be your sister, m’dear.’

Dorothea had spent the journey to Tadworth more in consideration of the possibilities of her next morning’s encounter with Hazelmere than in worry over her imminent encounter with Edward Buchanan. She had no real fear of the bucolic Mr Buchanan and did not pause to question her ability to deal with him. She planned to march into the Castle Inn and, quite simply, walk out again with Cecily. If Edward Buchanan was so Gothic as to believe he could bend her to his will by such melodramatic tactics he would shortly learn his error. Her only worry was that her grandmother would bow to Ferdie’s exhortations and inform Hazelmere. Hopefully, Lady Merion would hold firm. That way she could get Cecily and herself safely back to London and meet his lordship in the morning, having lost no further ground, bar the lack of a few hours’ sleep.

Lang found the inn without difficulty. Entering, Dorothea saw at a glance that this was a respectable house. Reassured, she left Betsy and Lang seated in the taproom and knocked on the parlour door. When it opened she swept through, head held high, without so much as a glance at the man holding the door. She advanced towards her sister, stretching out her hands in greeting. ‘There you are, my love.’

The sisters exchanged kisses and Dorothea pulled off her gloves. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip down?’ she enquired.

Moving back to his chair after shutting the door, Edward Buchanan began to feel that all was not proceeding as it should.

Cecily took her cue from Dorothea. Ignoring their captor, they happily conversed in the most mundane manner, as if nothing at all untoward had occurred. Dorothea moved to the fire to warm her chilled hands.

Suddenly Edward Buchanan could stand it no longer. ‘Miss Darent!’

Dorothea turned to look at him, disdain in every line. ‘Mr Buchanan. I had hoped, sir, that you would by now have come to your senses and that I would not be forced into conversation with you.’

The repressive tones stung. But Edward Buchanan had not come thus far to be easily turned aside. ‘My dear Miss Darent, I realise the events of the evening have come as a shock to you. But you must consider, m’dear. You’re here. I’m here. You need to be married. I’m only too willing to oblige. If you think about it, I’m sure you’ll see that Edward Buchanan’s not such a bad bargain.’

Eyes blazing, Dorothea replied scornfully, ‘You, sir, are unquestionably the most distasteful character it has been my misfortune to meet. I dare say you think you’ve been clever. Personally I doubt it! I cannot for the life of me understand your obsession with marrying me. However, other than as a source of irritation, it concerns me not in the least. By your presence you reveal yourself as anything but the gentleman you purport to be, and neither my sister nor I have the slightest wish to converse with you further!’

Edward Buchanan purpled alarmingly as the comprehensive condemnation poured over him. Rising abruptly, he knocked over his chair. ‘Ah, but I think you’ll change your mind, m’dear. You wouldn’t want it broadcast that I was alone with your lovely young sister for some hours tonight.’

Both Dorothea and Cecily whirled to face him, contempt written clearly on their faces. But before either could speak Edward Buchanan went on, ‘Oh, yes. I think you’ll change your mind. You’ve scuttled your chances with Hazelmere. Wouldn’t do for your sister to let Fanshawe off the hook, too.’

Cecily was fairly hopping with rage. ‘Thea, don’t you listen to him! Oooh, just wait till Tony and Hazelmere hear of this!’

Dorothea laid a restraining hand on Cecily’s arm as that spirited damsel was about to launch forth into further vituperative outpourings. Drawing herself to her full height, she spoke clearly, a distinctly martial light in her green eyes. ‘Mr Buchanan. There will be no scandal. My sister and I will shortly be leaving this charming inn and returning to town in our carriage, accompanied by our maid.’

Edward Buchanan jeered, ‘And what’s to stop me passing on the tale of what happened here tonight?’

Dorothea’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why, Hazelmere, of course.’ She would have given anything not to have needed recourse to his lordship, but, as far as she could see, he was the best deterrent she had. Cecily’s happiness was at stake now and she would do anything necessary to preserve her younger sister.

Her calm reference to the Marquis temporarily rattled Edward Buchanan. Then he recovered. ‘Nice try, m’dear. But it won’t do. Aside from the fact that all the ton knows you quarrelled with his arrogant lordship, I happen to know he’s out of town. By the time he returns, the damage will be done.’

The gaze Dorothea bent on the hapless Mr Buchanan would have frozen greater men. ‘My dear sir, if your information on the Marquis’s movements is so reliable I presume you also know that he returned to London today. As for our relationship, I have no intention of edifying you with an explanation. Suffice to say that Lord Hazelmere has requested an interview with me tomorrow morning.’ She paused to let her words sink in. Then she turned to Cecily. ‘Come, my love. We should start back. I wouldn’t like to be late for my meeting with Hazelmere.’

But Edward Buchanan was not yet defeated. ‘Easy to say, m’dear. But even if he is in town, who’s to say he’ll hear about it? No, I’m afraid I really can’t let you leave.’

His stubborn belligerence ignited Dorothea’s temper. ‘Oh, you silly man! I hope Hazelmere doesn’t hear about it. The only reason I came down here is so that there’s no reason for him to be involved. And if only you’d see sense you’d be assisting us to leave with all speed!’

‘Hah! So he doesn’t know!’

‘He didn’t know when I left, but I wouldn’t wager a groat that he doesn’t know by now.’

‘There’s still time to get married,’ mused Mr Buchanan. ‘I’ve a special licence and there’s a clergyman of sorts in the village.’

Cecily’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re quite mad,’ she informed Mr Buchanan.

‘Mr Buchanan!’ said Dorothea in tones of long suffering. ‘Please listen to me! I will not marry you. Not now, not tonight, not ever.’

‘Yes, you will!’

Dorothea opened her mouth to deny this charge but it remained open, her words evaporating, as a calm voice drawled from the doorway, ‘I’m shattered to disappoint you, Buchanan, but in this instance Miss Darent is quite correct.’

All eyes turned to see the Marquis of Hazelmere, standing in the doorway, shoulders negligently propped against the frame.